


Lost In The Woods

by ilikepianos



Series: Butch & Sundance [1]
Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Awkward Boners, Bickering, Fluff, Forests, Friends to Lovers, Getting Lost Together, Hotels, Huddling For Warmth, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Rain, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikepianos/pseuds/ilikepianos
Summary: The title says it all.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Series: Butch & Sundance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048186
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	Lost In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. I've been contemplating for a looooong time whether I should post this or not, but here we are. The other parts of this series are far from finished, BUT I'm writing these individual parts in a way so that they can be read as stand-alone one-shots as well, so I've finally decided to just go ahead and post this one now. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> If you want to read the title of this fic to the melody of the song from Frozen 2, I won't stop you ;)

“Go drive off with those girls to get laid, you said. We’ll walk back to the hotel, you said. It’ll be fun, you said”, Jon bitches in the best Richie impression he can muster with rain dripping into his eyes, nose and mouth.

“Oh shut up already, will ya? It’s just a little rain. You’re not made of sugar, are ya?”, Richie bitches back from somewhere to his right, and Jon can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

He snorts humorlessly. “Ha ha, you’re funny, Mr Guitarist. Will your fingers fall off if you get a cold? No. Will I lose my voice if I get one? Yeah, most likely. I’m not being a pussy. We have a show in two days!” His tone comes out a little too defensive for his own liking, but, honestly, he is just being reasonable here.

Richie doesn’t respond, but Jon is convinced he can hear him rolling his eyes again.

“You’re an _idiot_ ”, he adds for good measure, because he is cold and wet and in one hell of a mood. He’s also pretty sure they’re lost.

“And yet you blindly followed my suggestion to walk, so who’s the real idiot here?”, Richie shoots back without missing a beat, and his voice sounds a lot closer now that the path they’re following is getting increasingly smaller as increasingly more trees start appearing around them.

_Oh, great._

Getting lost in the vegetable fields on the outskirts of some British Columbian town Jon can’t even remember the name of is one thing, but getting lost in the woods in the middle of the night, while it’s absolutely pissing and the temperature has started dropping significantly, is a whole different thing.

“Let me guess: you have no clue where we are”, Jon bites out, because apparently bitching at Richie makes for a good distraction from their current predicament.

On some subconscious level he knows he’s being a grade A asshole, and he’s probably gonna feel really bad about it tomorrow, when he’s warm and dry and had a good night’s sleep, but right now he’s too wired to keep his mouth shut.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was the designated tour guide”, Richie deadpans. “I’ll remember to bring an atlas to every outdoor party from now on. Just in case.”

“A map of this area would’ve been enough”, Jon grumbles under his breath, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep his teeth from chattering. He hates feeling so useless and helpless and out of control, and he absolutely refuses to let his body succumb to the cold.

Richie’s shoulder knocks against his as they continue down the small muddy path in silence, and if despite all his previous bitching Jon inches a little closer to him, he’ll just blame it on his currently severely impaired vision and coordination.

“Jonny?”, Richie eventually breaks the silence, his tone surprisingly soft.

“Yeah?”

“What are we gonna do, if we don’t find a way out of this godforsaken forest tonight?”

“We will”, Jon replies determinedly, subconsciously picking up his pace a little.

“Yeah, of course, but what _if_ we don’t? Maybe we should make, like, a contingency plan”, Richie continues, and he’s got a point, of course, but Jon really, _really_ doesn’t like the idea of that particular contingency.

He sighs deeply, and a full-body shiver - from the cold, he tells himself - runs through him before he opens his mouth to speak.

“Find a bush or cave or something to literally sit out the night in? And then try our luck again, when we can actually _see_ where the fuck we are and where the fuck we’re going?”

For a self-proclaimed optimist, he’s surely sounding quite pessimistic right now, but he just can’t bring himself to give a shit. He just wants a hot shower and, honestly, even the shittiest, most worn-out hotel bed sounds like an actual dream to him right now.

“That doesn’t sound very promising”, Richie responds warily, and Jon instantly snaps right back into bitch mode.

“You got a better idea?”, he challenges.

“No”, Richie admits, simply, knocking his shoulder against Jon’s again. This time, Jon is certain, on purpose.

They continue walking in silence again, and Jon’s shoes almost get stuck in the mud beneath their feet a couple times, but their surroundings - or at least what he can make out of them through the rain in the pitch dark - always stay the same, and Jon dimly starts to wonder what they’re gonna do, if they can’t even find any shelter from the rain to wait out the night. He gave up on trying to keep his teeth from chattering a couple hundred trees ago, and he can barely feel his toes or fingers anymore.

He doubts Richie is doing any better.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to say, that Richie’s fingers aren’t going to fall off from this.

“Hey, do you see that???”, Richie suddenly exclaims animatedly.

“What?”, Jon asks, blinking against the rain in a futile attempt to make out anything other than trees.

“Right there!” Richie grabs Jon’s biceps, tugging him towards his point of view, and his fingers slip on the wet fake-leather, but Jon follows quickly, squinting in the direction Richie is pointing, and sure enough he can make out a shadow between the trees that looks like…

“Is that a house???”, he asks incredulously.

Quite frankly, it sounds too good to be true.

“Probably a hunting lodge”, Richie says excitedly. “Come on!” He grabs Jon’s biceps again, but Jon doesn’t need to be told twice.

As they carefully make their way through the undergrowth, he sends out a silent prayer, that this shadow is _actually_ some sort of building they can use for shelter and not just a hallucination.

He is dimly aware, that that’s more of a desert thing, but. Contingencies.

“Oh my _god_!”, Richie exclaims as the shadow in front of them starts to take more shape.

The shape of little wooden house.

Thank the fucking Lord.

Jon automatically picks up his pace and Richie follows suit, and soon enough they find themselves outside the front door of what appears to be an old, somewhat abandoned hunting lodge.

“Shit, what if it’s locked?”, Jon suddenly blurts out, looking over at Richie, who appears to be fumbling around with his belt. Jon is just about to ask, when Richie triumphantly produces two needle-like silver studs.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Richie came prepared”, he says, throwing Jon a smug grin, before getting to work on the lock, and Jon silently thanks Richie’s questionable fashion choices for potentially saving their lives tonight.

“Ugh, don’t say that. It makes you sound like a creep”, he responds with faux-disapproval, completely unable to keep the smile out of his voice, when the lock clicks and Richie swings the door open with a dramatic gesture for Jon to step through.

“My hero”, Jon sighs, clutching his heart equally dramatically, before stepping into the beautifully rain-free environment and fumbling for a light switch.

One sad little bulb hanging from the ceiling lights up as Richie pulls the door shut behind them, and Jon quickly scans their surroundings.

The hunting lodge is tiny, consisting of only one room containing a worn-out sofa, a stove, a minuscule table with 2 chairs, a couple cabinets and drawers and a door, which Jon presumes leads to the bathroom.

Judging from the dust gathering on the furniture, nobody has been in here in at least a couple months.

“Home sweet home”, Richie announces drily, shrugging off his dripping leather jacket, and Jon quickly follows suit, carelessly dropping the wet thing to the floor.

He is soaked to the bone and his teeth are still chattering from the cold. The house might be dry, but it’s just as cold as the forest outside, and the wet clothes sticking to his skin certainly aren’t helping.

“Here”, Richie calls from behind him, and Jon turns around just in time to catch the surprisingly neat and clean looking wool blanket Richie throws his way. “There are some sheets in this drawer as well. I think you can pull out that sofa and turn it into a bed”, he explains, rummaging through said drawer and producing a couple of simple white bed sheets.

Jon figures he might as well make himself useful, so he kicks off his muddy shoes and stalks over to the sofa to try and figure out its mechanism.

Soon enough, he has turned the sofa into a small bed, and Richie is haphazardly covering it with the bed sheets he found, before pulling off his soaked t-shirt and making to work open his pants.

Jon’s brain kind of glitches for a moment, and he fully blames the fact, that he’s freezing so badly now, that he’s physically shaking, and he just gapes as Richie continues to strip.

“What? Don’t give me that look, you know damn well we can’t get in there in our wet clothes”, Richie points out matter-of-factly, peeling his soaked skinny jeans off his legs. “I mean you’re welcome to continue standing there and shaking, but I’m getting under these blankets.”

Jon swallows a bit drily, before removing his own soaked t-shirt and clumsily fumbling with his belt, because Richie is right, of course. His fingers are numb and shaking, although right now he is not entirely sure that’s solely because of the cold. But he refuses to let himself contemplate the other potential reasons and forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

Literally.

From the corner of his eye Jon can see Richie crawling under the blankets, naked as the day he was born, so Jon decides to go all in, too, and quickly slips off his boxers, then turns off the tragic excuse of a lightbulb, before climbing under the blankets himself, careful to keep as much of a respectful distance between his friend and himself as possible in the tiny makeshift bed.

This isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other naked, and this isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed either, but combine the two together and suddenly everything becomes a much bigger deal.

They lie in silence for a while, and Jon finds, that despite the fact that he got rid of his wet clothes and is currently covered with several layers of blankets, he is still freezing so badly he’s shaking.

“Are you still cold?”, he asks towards the ceiling, half wondering if Richie has somehow managed to fall asleep.

“Yeah”, comes the instant response from his side.

“Me, too”, Jon admits.

He can hear and feel Richie wriggling around next to him, and when he speaks up again, Richie’s voice suddenly sounds a lot closer, faintly reminding Jon of when they were walking before. “You know”, Richie says softly, pausing for a moment before continuing. “There’s a way to make it better, right?” His voice is barely a whisper now, and for some reason Jon can suddenly feel his own heartbeat.

“What do you mean?”, he asks, equally softly, even though he already has a faint idea of what Richie is talking about.

“It’s just- if we just-“, Richie tries awkwardly, before wriggling around again until Jon can feel his chest gently pressed up against his arm, effectively making Jon’s heart skip a beat before starting to pound wildly against his ribcage.

He’s got a pretty good idea of what Richie is suggesting now, and his brain knows, that that’s just the rational and logical thing to do in their situation, but his heart apparently hasn’t gotten that memo yet.

Nonetheless he rolls onto his side, so that he’s facing Richie, their bodies only mere inches apart now, and Jon tries very hard not to think about the fact that they’re both stark naked.

“Are you sure?”, he asks quietly.

“Yeah”, Richie confirms softly. “Are you?”

Jon surprises himself with his own complete lack of hesitation. “Yeah”, he says, honestly. “But how are we-“, he starts, and he’s sure he would be feeling the heat rising up in his cheeks right now if he weren’t so fucking cold.

“Uh”, Richie responds eloquently, and Jon can see a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

At least he isn’t the only one being awkward here, he supposes.

“Maybe like…spooning?”, Richie suggests, the blush on his cheeks darkening, and this time Jon can actually feel the heat in his own cheeks, creating an odd juxtaposition with the cold in his bones.

“Oh. Yeah, okay”, he replies a little breathlessly. “Who-“, he starts, but Richie is already shifting and rolling over on his other side.

“If that’s okay with you”, he whispers in the other direction, and Jon finds himself awkwardly staring at the broad back and mop of damp hair in front of him, but also realizing that, yes, this is totally okay with him.

“It is”, he confirms, before taking a deep breath to try and slow down his heartbeat, mildly worried that Richie might be able to feel it and start asking uncomfortable questions Jon won’t even answer in his own mind.

He inches forward, closing the short distance between their bodies, until his chest is pressed up against Richie’s back. His skin is cold as expected, but Jon can feel his body radiating heat under that cold surface, and he almost sighs in relief at the feeling of it.

A little hesitantly he wraps an arm around Richie, careful to keep his lower half from touching him, but Richie brings a hand up to gently touch Jon’s forearm, as if he read his mind.

“If you’re okay with it, go for it. I’m okay with it”, he whispers, giving Jon’s arm a squeeze.

So Jon decides to throw all rationality and caution and the millions of reasons why this is a terrible idea in the wind, and shifts forward, so that now his body is pressed up against Richie’s from head to toe.

Richie wriggles backwards against Jon and tangles their legs, amplifying their skin-on-skin contact, and something about that makes Jon bury his face into Richie’s shoulder.

His heart is beating wildly again, and he knows Richie must be able to feel it, but suddenly he’s okay with that, because he can feel Richie’s heart hammering just as hard as his own, so he just buries his face a little deeper, letting the warmth of Richie’s body seep into his own as he finally feels himself drift off.

***

When Jon wakes up again, it’s to the sound of birds chirping and the taste of hair in his mouth.

“Eurgh”, he says, removing his face from the softly snoring mop of hair in front of him.

As he blinks his eyes open against the early morning sun, that’s seeping through the dirty windows, and slowly regains his consciousness, he finds himself becoming acutely aware of two things:

  1. He finally feels thoroughly warmed up, and Richie’s body, that’s still plastered to his front, is radiating heat like a furnace.



  1. His own body might just be _the_ biggest traitor Jon has ever come across, because he’s currently sporting a hard-on, that’s awkwardly poking against Richie’s ass, and part of Jon kind of wishes he had just frozen to death last night instead of jumping from one predicament straight into the next one.



Thanking whatever God(s) might be living in the heavens above that Richie is still sleeping, Jon carefully shifts his pelvis away from him, before attempting to gently extract his forearm from Richie’s hand, all while trying very hard (and failing miserably) not to think about the fact, that there was really no need for Richie to continue holding on to his arm like that throughout the night.

But then again there was also no need for Jon to rest his hand right above Richie’s heart all night long, so he decides to blame their shared trauma of the previous night as well as hormones because no one can tell him not to, and slips out from underneath their mountain of blankets.

He quickly grabs his still damp clothes from the floor and makes a beeline to the bathroom to deal with his situation and get dressed.

His clothes feel disgusting and uncomfortable against his skin, but it’s far more bearable than the bone-chilling cold from before, and when he steps out of the bathroom again, he finds Richie out of bed and pulling on his own clothes.

“There’s running water in the bathroom, but I don’t think we should drink it. That faucet doesn’t look very trustworthy”, Jon starts rambling to fill any potential awkward silence, because now that they’re both warmed up and back in the real world so-to-speak, there’s a dull anxiety building up in the back of his mind, that things are going to be weird between the two of them now.

“Ugh, my tongue feels like sandpaper”, Richie groans, fluffing up his hair in a mostly futile attempt to get it out of his face.

“Maybe we’ll find a creek on the way”, Jon says half-heartedly. He makes his way over to their makeshift bed and starts folding the blankets, just to give his hands something to do.

“I’d prefer a supermarket”, Richie points out drily.

Like on command Jon’s stomach growls, reminding him that his last meal was about 12 hours and God knows how many miles of walking ago.

“Civilization”, he says wistfully. “A telephone.” He dreamily stares off into the distance, because apparently his main coping mechanism has changed from bitching at Richie to dramatic theatrics over night.

Well, at least this way he isn’t being a complete dick towards his best friend, who is probably not feeling any better than him at the moment.

“Hey, what are we gonna do about this?”, Richie questions, flapping his hand around to indicate that “this” means their makeshift hotel.

“Put everything back where we got it from and leave?”, Jon suggests. “I mean, there isn’t much we can do anyways, right? We don’t know who owns this place, and I personally don’t feel like turning myself in for breaking and entering - although this is Canada and they’d probably just thank us for being honest and let us go again, but…”, he trails off, but Richie seems to have caught the gist.

“Yeah”, he agrees. “Alright, let’s turn this thing into a sofa again and get the fuck out of here.”

They quickly clean up all the evidence of their presence, then step outside into the goddamn forest.

The morning air is cool against Jon’s skin, especially with his still damp clothes, but at least it isn’t raining and the sun is poking out between a few fluffy white clouds.

“Okay, so, that’s the direction we came from last night, so which direction do you think we should- _wait a minute_ , do you _hear_ that???”, Richie sharply interrupts himself.

Jon lets up from his inspection of their surroundings and turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

He’s just about to ask “what?”, when…

“Are those _cars_???”, he blurts out, straining his ears.

“Sure sounds like it, right?”, Richie says excitedly. “There’s gotta be a road somewhere close…”

“Uh”, Jon says eloquently. “Yeah.” He uses his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he squints through the trees behind the hunting lodge.

“No fucking way.” Richie steps up beside him, squinting in the same direction. “Is that a fucking _driveway_?”

“I think so”, Jon affirms, and he kind of wants to slap himself for not bothering to look for something like that last night.

“Oh my god!”, Richie exclaims, grasping his head exasperatedly. “Are we fucking stupid? Are we actually fucking stupid?”

Jon internally winces in sympathy. “Apparently so”, he responds drily, grabbing Richie’s biceps like Richie grabbed his the night before and tugging gently. “Come on!”

And just like Jon the night before Richie doesn’t need to be told twice and follows along swiftly.

***

When Jon finally sinks into bed (a real bed - a cheap worn-out hotel bed, but a real bed nonetheless) that night, he kind of feels like the biggest fucking fool to ever walk this godforsaken planet.

Not only did he and Richie get lost in the woods and subsequently break into an abandoned hunting lodge, just so that they could spend the night there - _while_ _spooning each other stark naked -_ even though the road and a whole damn _bus stop_ were merely a 10 minute walk away, but also nobody even noticed they were missing.

When they finally got back to the hotel after what felt like an actual eternity, it was barely noon and their bandmates were still sleeping off their hangovers and post-orgasmic hazes.

Later that day Jon and Richie briefly filled them in on their overnight adventure over dinner, leaving out certain details about the exact nature of their sleeping arrangements in silent agreement, before excusing themselves to their shared hotel room to go catch up on some much needed sleep.

However now, that Jon is actually lying in the dark and buried under a big fluffy duvet, his mind is wide awake, alternating between reminding him of his own stupidity and replaying a certain part of the previous night over and over again.

He also feels kind of cold again, despite having taken not only one but two hot showers since they got back, and his absolutely useless brain keeps pointing out that Richie is currently lying in the other bed, merely a couple steps away from him, and probably really warm.

It’s not like this is the first night Jon has found himself lying awake and thinking about Richie’s presence in the other bed maybe a little too hard, but normally he’s always been able to banish these, quite frankly, dangerous thoughts from his mind by forcing himself to think about other, safer and much more important things.

But right now, no matter how hard he tries, his mind just keeps circling back to this particular subject matter, and Jon finds that mildly disconcerting, but most of all severely frustrating.

“Do you mind if I turn up the heater?”, he eventually asks into the dark.

He kind of expected Richie to be fast asleep, so he nearly flinches, when he actually gets a reply.

“I already turned it all the way up”, Richie informs him, his voice sounding muffled - like he’s buried his face into his pillow.

“Are you still cold?”, Jon asks, making sure to keep his tone causal. He doesn’t want to risk Richie reading anything into the question - not because he would be wrong, but because Jon is terrified of how badly that might backfire.

Richie takes a moment before he responds, and Jon can already feel the anxiety, that he didn’t keep his tone neutral enough, building up in the back of his mind.

“Yes”, Richie says softly then, and his voice doesn’t sound muffled anymore.

“Me, too”, Jon simply replies, keeping his voice equally soft.

He doesn’t really know what else to say. He knows what he _wants_ , but he also knows that he’s playing with fire and that there is way too much on the line for him to seriously risk getting burned.

So he just falls back into silence and continues staring at the shadow-y outline of the ceiling fan in the middle of the room like it might magically start spinning counterclockwise to cast some sort of spell and solve all his problems.

Yeah, he’s definitely losing his mind.

After what feels like an eternity, but was probably more like 3 minutes, Richie breaks the silence again.

“Jonny?”, he asks, and maybe it’s because Jon is currently in the process of losing his mind, but Richie almost sounds _hesitant_ to him.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking-“, he pauses like he’s struggling to find the right words. “Actually, never mind”, he rushes out then, clearly frustrated with himself.

“No, what were you thinking?”, Jon questions, perhaps a little too eagerly, but he hopes Richie is too distracted by his own frustration to notice.

“Well, I was just-“, Richie starts again. “Fuck, I don’t know how to say this”, he admits, huffing out a frustrated breath.

"I suggest words", Jon says, making sure to keep his tone light and gentle. He isn't making fun of Richie. He's just trying to take a bit of the edge off of whatever his friend is struggling to say right now.

“Ha ha”, Richie says drily, and Jon can practically feel him giving him a pointed look. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself.”

Jon can’t help but smile a little at the fond exasperation he detects in Richie’s tone.

It’s not like anyone can see it in the dark and call him out on it.

“Just forget about it, okay?”, Richie says defeatedly. “Let’s just. Try to sleep”, he adds, and it’s that soft tone from before again. It makes Jon’s chest ache a little, and something about that suddenly makes him feel bold.

“Okay.” He pauses, steeling himself. “What if I can’t?”

As soon as the words are out, his heart rate picks up in something akin to mild panic, even though he hasn’t even said anything dangerous yet. He knows, however, that Richie is very smart and very brilliant at reading between the lines and understanding things Jon never actually said out loud. So chances are he’ll connect the dots now, too.

“What do you mean?”, Richie asks, and Jon genuinely can’t tell if he really doesn’t know or if he’s just trying to get Jon to say it first.

Fuck.

Jon shouldn’t be allowed to open his stupid mouth when he’s cold and tired and clearly not thinking straight - literally.

“Um”, he says to buy himself some time.

“I’m really cold”, he dumbly explains then, desperately hoping Richie will have the decency to pretend to buy it and drop the topic.

Of course, as it turns out, Richie does not have the decency to pretend to buy it.

“Well, so am I”, he retorts, and his tone is an adorable mixture of petulant and challenging, and right now is really not the time to be thinking of Richie as adorable, Jesus fucking Christ, Bongiovi, get it _together_ already.

“So what if you can’t sleep either?”, Jon shoots back equally petulantly, because apparently he isn’t done saying stupid things for the night yet.

“So what are you saying?”, Richie inquires, the challenging undertone in his voice slowly gaining the upper hand now.

“What are _you_ saying?”, Jon asks back, even though he’s very well aware, that it doesn’t really make any sense given the previous course of their conversation, but he kind of dug himself a hole with his big stupid mouth, so now he has to resort to playing dirty to get the fuck out of there again.

“I’m saying you’re being weird and trying to say something without _actually_ saying it”, Richie explains calmly and matter-of-factly, and if Jon didn’t know him so well, he would probably fall for it, but he knows Richie and he knows he’s playing just as dirty as Jon right now.

But Jon’s got another ace up his sleeve. “Says the one who was trying to say something but couldn’t literally just a few minutes ago”, he says pointedly.

That earns him a deeply frustrated groan from Richie. “Okay, fine, I was trying to ask you to come over here and get in with me.”

Jon’s brain stops functioning for a split second, but his mouth apparently retains all its functionality, because before he can even overthink anything, he hears himself blurting out: “Well, I was trying to ask you if I could get in with you.”

“Well, then what the fuck are you waiting for?”, Richie shoots back, but his tone is softer now, and Jon thinks he can hear a smile in it.

“For you to stop being so annoying”, he grumbles, entirely unable to keep the smile out of his own voice, as he throws back the duvet and shuffles over to Richie’s bed.

“Scoot over”, he says, mainly to cover up the fact that his heart is once again racing and his hands are a little sweaty despite the cold, before climbing in and slipping under the duvet.

The situation is significantly less awkward now, that they’re wearing clothes, but Jon still feels a little self-conscious and unsure about what to do next.

Luckily, Richie seems to be a lot bolder than him, because just like the night before he lines his body up against Jon’s side, peeking up at him expectantly.

“How do you wanna do it?”, he asks, offering Jon a dopey smile.

Jon doesn’t even try to hide the smile spreading across his own face. “Maybe the other way round this time?”

Richie’s smile grows a little wider. “Roll over.”

Jon doesn’t need to be told twice, but he momentarily pauses. “I think we should take off our shirts, though. The fabric just blocks the warmth”, he says as matter-of-factly as possible to hide his nerves.

As it turns out, there was no need for him to be nervous, though, because Richie instantly hums in agreement. “You definitely have a point there”, he replies, similarly matter-of-factly, before lifting up a little to pull off his own shirt.

Jon quickly follows his example, then settles back down under the duvet.

When Richie plasters himself across his back, he immediately feels the heat seeping through his skin and into his bones and he very nearly moans in relief.

“This okay?”, Richie whispers, sliding an arm across Jon’s waist and resting his hand against Jon’s upper belly.

“Yeah”, Jon whispers back, placing his hand on top of Richie’s and squeezing it gently, before pulling it up a little higher to rest against his sternum.

“Good”, Richie replies, and this time his voice is muffled by Jon’s hair.

He isn’t entirely sure, but Jon thinks he can feel Richie softly kissing the back of his head, and it makes him clutch Richie’s hand a little tighter to his chest, before sleep finally starts to take over his senses.


End file.
